<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Story Built on Hidden Memories by oupster</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371026">The Story Built on Hidden Memories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oupster/pseuds/oupster'>oupster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Before the Maze (Maze Runner), In the Maze, M/M, My First Fanfic, Not Canon Compliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oupster/pseuds/oupster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas arrives in the maze, when a familiar blond catches his eye. Thomas has to learn how to survive while dealing with problems that won't leave him alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Day One ... Rise and Shine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first maze runner fic since I'm addicted and wanted to try out my skills. I hope this turns out better than I think it will, but writing is all about learning ... right? This will be a mix between the books and the movies. Well have fun reading my disaster and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air. Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness. With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft. Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth as it ascended, turning the boy’s stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses, making him feel worse. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone, waiting. His stomach turning with nausea, as the room started ascending at a break neck pace. He couldn't take it any longer and bent down on his hands and knees. His breaths were laboured as tears started making their way down his face. He expelled the contents of his stomach until he couldn't anymore and he was just dry heaving.</p><hr/><p>The ascent finally slowed allowing his stomach to calm and for him to collect his thoughts. My name is Thomas, he thought. That ... that was the only thing he could remember about his life. He didn’t understand how this could be possible. His mind functioned without flaw, trying to calculate his surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded his mind, facts and images, memories and details of the world and how it works. He pictured snow on trees, running down a leaf-strewn road, eating a hamburger, the moon casting a pale glow on a grassy meadow, swimming in a lake, a busy city square with hundreds of people bustling about their business. And yet he didn’t know where he came from, or how he’d gotten inside the dark lift, or who his parents were. He didn’t even know his last name. Images of people flashed across his mind, but there was no recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of colour. He couldn’t think of one person he knew, or recall a single conversation. His mind was drawing a blank, it reminded him of a clean slate ready to be written on.</p><p>The room continued its ascent, swaying; Thomas grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the chains that pulled him upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into hours, although it was impossible to know for sure because every second seemed an eternity. No. He was smarter than that. Trusting his instincts, he knew he’d been moving for roughly half an hour. Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind, replaced by an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening. With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the sudden change jolted Thomas from his huddled position and threw him across the hard floor. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt the room sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent. A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal.</p><hr/><p>He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his fists. Nothing. Thomas backed into the corner once again careful to avoid the vomit, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned. He felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body. “Someone ... help ... me!” he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw. The room suddenly stopped its ascent and a loud clank rang out above him. He sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Thomas watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hands. He heard noises above—voices—and fear squeezed his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at that shank.”</p><p>“How old is he?”</p><p>“Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt.”</p><p>“You’re the klunk, shuck-face.”</p><p>“Dude, it smells like barf and feet down there!”</p><p>"How do you know what that smells like?"</p><p>"I live with you dude."</p><p>“Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie.”</p><p>“Ain’t no ticket back, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>Thomas was hit with a wave of confusion, blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with echo; some of the words were completely foreign—others felt familiar. He willed his eyes to adjust as he squinted toward the light and those speaking. At first he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies—people bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him, pointing. And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were boys, all of them—some young, some older. Thomas didn’t know what he’d expected, but seeing those faces puzzled him. They were just teenagers. Kids. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm his racing heart. A boy around 15 jumped down into the room holding a rope. He walked towards Thomas and crouched on his knees staring at him before he said, "day one greenie, rise and shine!" Before hauling Thomas up, throwing him over his shoulder and grabbing the rope.</p><p>Someone raised the rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop that the boy had his foot in. Thomas hesitated, not sure what to do ... he was still draped over the boy's shoulder. He decided to clutched the rope in his hand as they were yanked toward the sky. Hands reached down, lots of hands, grabbing him off the shoulder by his clothes, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and colour and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up ... again. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And Thomas knew he’d never forget these next set of words. “Nice to meet ya, shank,” the boy from before said. “Welcome to the Glade.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Staring Never Goes Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first chapter wasn't so bad and I've got ideas and almost no time on my hands. Perfect time to write...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He could feel the pairs of eyes staring at him, trying to get a closer look. Their hands didn’t stop swarming around him until Thomas stood up straight and had the dust brushed from his shirt and pants. Still dazzled by the light, he staggered a bit. He was consumed with curiosity but still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings. His new companions said nothing as he swivelled his head around, trying to take it all in. As he rotated in a slow circle, the other kids snickered and stared; some reached out and poked him with a finger. There had to be at least fifty of them, their clothes smudged and sweaty as if they’d been hard at work, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair of varying lengths. Thomas suddenly felt dizzy, his eyes flickering between the boys and the bizarre place in which he’d found himself.</p><p>They stood in a vast field several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four enormous walls made of grey stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. The walls had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the exact middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what Thomas could see, led to passages and long corridors beyond.</p><p></p><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>“Look at the Greenbean,” a familiar voice said; Thomas couldn’t see who it came from. “Gonna break his shuck neck checkin’ out the new digs.” Several boys laughed.</p>
      <p>“Shut your hole, Gally,” a deeper voice responded.</p>
      <p>Thomas focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him. He knew he must look out of it—he felt like he’d been drugged. A tall kid with blond hair and a sharp jaw watched him, his face devoid of expression. His eyes were a different story, they were scanning him up and down. Behind his blank mask was the expression of worry and fondness to the scene happening around him. A short, pudgy boy fidgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at Thomas with wide nervous eyes. A thick, heavily muscled Asian kid folded his arms as he studied Thomas, his tight shirtsleeves rolled up to show off his biceps. A dark-skinned boy frowned—the same one who’d told Gally to shut up. Countless others stared.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>“Where am I?” Thomas asked, surprised at hearing his voice for the first time in his salvageable memory. It didn’t sound quite right—higher than he would’ve imagined.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>“Nowhere good.” This came from the dark-skinned boy. “Just slim yourself nice and calm.”</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>“Which Keeper he gonna get?” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.</p>
      <p>“I told ya, shuck-face,” a shrill voice responded. “He’s a klunk, so he’ll be a Slopper—no doubt about it.” The kid giggled like he’d just said the funniest thing in history.</p>
      <p>Thomas once again felt a pressing ache of confusion—hearing so many words and phrases that didn’t make sense. Shank. Shuck. Keeper. Slopper. They popped out of the boys’ mouths so naturally it seemed odd for him not to understand. It was as if his memory loss had stolen a chunk of his language—it was disorienting. Different emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart. Confusion. Curiosity. Panic. Fear. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness, like the world had ended for him, had been wiped from his memory and replaced with something awful. He wanted to run and hide from these people.</p>
      <p>The familiar boy that dragged him out of the room-Gally was talking. “—even do that much, bet my liver on it.” Thomas still couldn’t see his face. “I said shut your holes!” the dark boy yelled. “Keep yapping and next break’ll be cut in half!” That must be their leader, Thomas realized. Hating how everyone gawked at him, he concentrated on studying the place the boy had called the Glade.</p>
      <p>The floor of the field- no courtyard, a decrepit courtyard looked like it was made of huge stone blocks, many of them cracked and filled with long grasses and weeds. An odd, dilapidated wooden building near one of the corners of the square contrasted greatly with the grey stone. A few trees surrounded it, their roots like gnarled hands digging into the rock floor for food. Another corner of the compound held gardens—from where he was standing Thomas recognized corn, tomato plants, fruit trees.</p>
      <p>Across the courtyard from there stood wooden pens holding sheep and pigs and cows. A large grove of trees filled the final corner; the closest ones looked crippled and close to dying. The sky overhead was cloudless and blue, but Thomas could see no sign of the sun despite the brightness of the day. The creeping shadows of the walls didn’t reveal the time or direction—it could be early morning or late afternoon. As he breathed in deeply, trying to settle his nerves, a mixture of smells bombarded him. Freshly turned dirt, manure, pine, something rotten and something sweet. Somehow he knew that these were the smells of a farm.</p>
      <hr/>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>Thomas looked back at his captors, feeling awkward but desperate to ask questions. Captors, he thought. Then, Why did that word pop into my head? He scanned their faces, taking in each expression, judging them. One boy’s eyes, flared with hatred, stopped him cold. He looked so angry, Thomas wouldn’t have been surprised if the kid came at him with a knife. He had black hair, and when they made eye contact, the boy shook his head and turned away, walking toward a greasy iron pole with a wooden bench next to it. A multicoloured flag hung limply at the top of the pole, no wind to reveal its pattern. Shaken, Thomas stared at the boy’s back until he turned and took a seat. Thomas quickly looked away.</p>
  <p>Suddenly the leader of the group—perhaps he was seventeen—took a step forward. He wore normal clothes: black T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, a digital watch. For some reason the clothing here surprised Thomas; it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing— like prison garb. The dark-skinned boy had short-cropped hair, his face clean shaven. But other than the permanent scowl, there was nothing scary about him at all.</p>
  <p>“It’s a long story, shank,” the boy said. “Piece by piece, you’ll learn— I’ll be takin’ you on The Tour tomorrow. Till then ... just don’t break anything.” He held a hand out. “Name’s Alby.” He waited, clearly wanting to shake hands. Thomas refused. Some instinct took over his actions and without saying anything he turned away from Alby and walked to a nearby tree, where he plopped down to sit with his back against the rough bark. Panic swelled inside him once again, almost too much to bear. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to try to accept the situation. Just go with it, he thought. You won’t figure out anything if you give in to fear. “Then tell me,” Thomas called out, struggling to keep his voice even.</p>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>“Tell me the long story.”</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>Alby glanced at the friends closest to him, rolling his eyes, and Thomas studied the crowd again. His original estimate had been close— there were probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from boys in their mid-teens to young adults like Alby, who seemed to be one of the oldest. At that moment, Thomas realized with a sickening lurch that he had no idea how old he was. His heart sank at the thought—he was so lost he didn’t even know his own age.</p>
      <p>“Seriously,” he said, giving up on the show of courage. “Where am I?” Alby walked over to him and sat down cross-legged; the crowd of boys followed and packed in behind. Heads popped up here and there, kids leaning in every direction to get a better look. “If you ain’t scared,” Alby said, “you ain’t human. Act any different and I’d throw you off the Cliff because it’d mean you’re a psycho.” “The Cliff?” Thomas asked, blood draining from his face. “Shuck it,” Alby said, rubbing his eyes. “Ain’t no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don’t kill shanks like you here, I promise. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, whatever.” He paused, and Thomas realized his face must’ve whitened even more when he heard that last part.</p>
      <p>“Man,” Alby said, then ran his hands over his short hair as he let out a long sigh. “I ain’t good at this—you’re the first Greenbean since Nick was killed.” Thomas’s eyes widened, and the blond haired boy stepped up and playfully slapped Alby across the head. “Wait for the bloody Tour, Alby,” he said, his voice thick with an odd accent-British. His brain supplied, he didn't even know what that word meant. Yet it felt familiar like he heard that accent often. “Kid’s gonna have a buggin’ heart attack, nothin’ even been heard yet.” He bent down and extended his hand toward Thomas. “Name’s Newt, Greenie, and we’d all be right cheery if ya’d forgive our klunk-for-brains new leader, here.”</p>
      <p>Thomas reached out and shook the boy’s hand—he seemed a lot nicer than Alby. Thomas gained feeling of déjà vu as he shook the boy's hand. Almost like he experienced something similar to this in the past. His hand seemed to fit perfectly in Newt's. He shook off the feeling and filed it into the back of his mind for later. Thomas noticed that Newt was taller than Alby, but looked to be a year or so younger. His hair was blond and cut short, looking like it was ruffled in the wind even though there was none. His arms were-“Pipe it, shuck-face,” Alby grunted, pulling Newt down to sit next to him. “At least he can understand half my words.” There were a few scattered laughs, and then everyone gathered behind Alby and Newt, packing in even tighter, waiting to hear what they said.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>Alby spread his arms out, palms up. “This place is called the Glade, all right? It’s where we live, where we eat, where we sleep—we call ourselves the Gladers. That’s all you—”</p>
      <p>“Who sent me here?” Thomas demanded, fear finally giving way to anger. “How’d—” But Alby’s hand shot out before he could finish, grabbing Thomas by the shirt as he leaned forward on his knees. “Get up, shank, get up!” Alby stood, pulling Thomas with him. Thomas finally got his feet under him, scared all over again. He backed against the tree, trying to get away from Alby, who stayed right in his face. “No interruptions, boy!” Alby shouted. “Whacker, if we told you everything, you’d die on the spot, right after you klunked your pants. Baggers’d drag you off, and you ain’t no good to us then, are ya?” “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Thomas said slowly, shocked at how steady his voice sounded.</p>
      <p>Newt reached out and grabbed Alby by the shoulders. “Alby, lay off a bit. You’re hurtin’ more than helpin’, ya know?” Alby let go of Thomas’s shirt and stepped back, his chest heaving with breaths. “Ain’t got time to be nice, Greenbean. Old life’s over, new life’s begun. Learn the rules quick, listen, don’t talk. You get me?” Thomas looked over at Newt, trying to gain comf-hoping for help. Everything inside him churned and hurt; the tears that had yet to come burned his eyes.</p>
      <p>Newt nodded. “Greenie, you get him, right?” He nodded again. Thomas fumed, wanted to punch somebody. But he simply nodded and said, “Yeah.” “Good that,” Alby said. “First Day. That’s what today is for you, shank. Night’s comin’, Runners’ll be back soon. The Box came late today, ain’t got time for The Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up.” He turned toward Newt. “Get him a bed, get him to sleep.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>“Good that,” Newt said.</p>
  <p>Alby’s eyes returned to Thomas, narrowing. “A few weeks, you’ll be happy, shank. You’ll be happy and helpin’. None of us knew jack on First Day, you neither. New life begins tomorrow.” Alby turned and pushed his way through the crowd, then headed for the slanted wooden building in the corner. Most of the kids wandered away then, each one giving Thomas a lingering look before they walked off.</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>Thomas folded his arms, closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Emptiness ate away at his insides, quickly replaced by a sadness that hurt his heart. It was all too much—where was he? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had he been sent here, and for how long? The language was odd, and none of the boys seemed to care whether he lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill his eyes, but he refused to let them come.</p>
      <p>“What did I do?” he whispered, not really meaning for anyone to hear him. “What did I do—why’d they send me here?”</p>
      <p>Newt clapped him on the shoulder. “Greenie, what you’re feelin’, we’ve all felt it. We’ve all had First Day, come out of that dark box. Things are bad, they are, and they’ll get much worse for ya soon, that’s the truth. But down the road a piece, you’ll be fightin’ true and good. I can tell you’re not a bloody sissy.”</p>
      <p>“Is this a prison?” Thomas asked; he dug in the darkness of his thoughts, trying to find a crack to his past. “Done asked four questions, haven’t ya?” Newt replied. “No good answers for ya, not yet, anyway. Best be quiet now, accept the change— morn comes tomorrow.”</p>
      <p>Thomas said nothing, his head sunk, his eyes staring at the cracked, rocky ground. A line of small-leafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Glade. “Chuck’ll be a good fit for ya,” Newt said. “Little clingy, but nice sap when all’s said and done. Stay here, I’ll be back.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>Newt had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source. Thomas felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building. Even Newt had jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern. “Shuck it,” he said. “Can’t the bloody Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin’ my help?” He shook his head and lightly kicked Thomas on the foot. “Find Chuckie, tell him he’s in charge of your sleepin’ arrangements.” And then he turned and headed in the direction of the building, running.</p>
  <p>Thomas slid down the rough face of the tree until he sat on the ground again; he shrank back against the bark and closed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from this terrible, terrible dream.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow, I think that only took an hour, I sure was productive. Hope you enjoy! Lemme know what you think in the comments and feel free to give a kudos. Have a Happy Valentine's Day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Curiosity Killed the Cat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I feel like I have an updating schedule, every weekend. Though I probably won't keep my updating schedule consistent. Since this chapter is out, I hope you enjoy Thomas getting into trouble ... as usual.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas sat there for several moments, too overwhelmed to move. He finally forced himself to get up and look over at the haggard building. A group of boys milled around outside, glancing anxiously at the upper windows as if expecting a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass and wood.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side. He scrambled to his feet and walked around the tree, craning his neck for a sign of whatever he’d heard, but he saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers—and looking just as alive.</p>
      <p>“That was one of them beetle blades,” someone said.</p>
      <p>Thomas turned to his right to see a kid standing nearby, short and pudgy, staring at him. He was young—probably the youngest of any in the group he’d seen so far, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. His brown hair hung down over his ears and neck, scraping the tops of his shoulders. Blue eyes shone through an otherwise pitiful face, flabby and flushed.</p>
      <p>Thomas nodded at him. “A beetle what?”</p>
      <p>“Beetle blade,” the boy said, pointing to the top of the tree. “Won’t hurt ya unless you’re stupid enough to touch one of them.” He paused. “Shank.” He didn’t sound comfortable saying the last word, as if he hadn’t quite grasped the slang of the Glade.</p>
      <p>Another scream, this one long and nerve-grinding, tore through the air and Thomas’s heart lurched. The fear was like icy dew on his skin. “What’s going on over there?” he asked, pointing at the building.</p>
      <p>“Don’t know,” the chubby boy replied; his voice still carried the high pitch of childhood. “Ben’s in there, sicker than a dog. They got him.”</p>
      <p>“They?” Thomas didn’t like the malicious way the boy had said the word.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>“Yeah.”</p>
      <p>“Who are They?”</p>
      <p>“Better hope you never find out,” the kid answered, looking far too comfortable for the situation. He held out his hand. “My name’s Chuck. I was the Greenbean until you showed up.”</p>
      <p>This is my guide for the night? Thomas thought. He couldn’t shake his extreme discomfort, now annoyance and maybe something else that crept in as well. Nothing made sense; his head hurt.</p>
      <p>“Why is everyone calling me Greenbean?” he asked, shaking Chuck’s hand quickly, then letting go.</p>
      <p>“Cuz you’re the newest Newbie.” Chuck pointed at Thomas and laughed. Another scream came from the house, a sound like a starving animal being tortured.</p>
      <p>“How can you be laughing?” Thomas asked, horrified by the noise. “It sounds like someone’s dying in there.”</p>
      <p>“He’ll be okay. No one dies if they make it back in time to get the Serum. It’s all or nothing. Dead or not dead. Just hurts a lot.”</p>
      <p>This gave Thomas pause. “What hurts a lot?”</p>
      <p>Chuck’s eyes wandered as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “Um, gettin’ stung by the Grievers.”</p>
      <p>“Grievers?” Thomas was only getting more and more confused. Stung. Grievers. The words had a heavy weight of dread to them, and he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to know what Chuck was talking about.</p>
      <p>Chuck shrugged, then looked away, eyes rolling.</p>
      <p>Thomas sighed in frustration and leaned back against the tree. “Looks like you barely know more than I do,” he said, but he knew it wasn’t true. His memory loss was strange. He mostly remembered the workings of the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read. He didn’t even know his age.</p>
      <p>“Chuck, how ... old do you think I am?”<br/>The boy scanned him up and down. “I’d say you’re sixteen. And in case you were wondering, five foot nine ... brown hair. Oh, and ugly as fried liver on a stick.” He snorted a laugh.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas was so stunned he’d barely heard the last part. Sixteen? He was sixteen? He felt much older than that. He hides that thought and tilts his head inquisitively and says dryly, "thanks for that very in-depth description, Chuck." "No problem!" He chirps.</p>
      <p>“But are you serious?” Thomas paused, searching for words. “How ...” He didn’t even know what to ask.</p>
      <p>“Don’t worry. You’ll be all whacked for a few days, but then you’ll get used to this place. I have. We live here, this is it. Better than living in a pile of klunk.” He squinted, maybe anticipating Thomas’s question. “Klunk’s another word for poo. Poo makes a klunk sound when it falls in our pee pots.”</p>
      <p>Thomas looked at Chuck, unable to believe he was having this conversation. “That’s nice” was all he could manage. He stood up and walked past Chuck toward the old building; shack was a better word for the place. It looked three or four stories high and about to fall down at any minute—a crazy assortment of logs and boards and thick twine and windows seemingly thrown together at random, the massive, ivy-strewn stone walls rising up behind it. As he moved across the courtyard, the distinct smell of firewood and some kind of meat cooking made his stomach grumble. Knowing now that it was just a sick kid doing the screaming made Thomas feel better. Until he thought about what had caused it ...</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>“What’s your name?” Chuck asked from behind, running to catch up.</p>
      <p>“What?”</p>
      <p>“Your name? You still haven’t told us—and I know you remember that much.”</p>
      <p>“Thomas.” He blurts out, barely hearing himself say it—his thoughts had spun in a new direction. If Chuck was right, he’d just discovered a link to the rest of the boys. A common pattern to their memory losses. They all remembered their names. Why not their parents’ names? Why not a friend’s name? Why not their last names?</p>
      <p>“Nice to meet you, Thomas,” Chuck said. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ve been here a whole month, and I know the place inside and out. You can count on Chuck, okay?”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas had almost reached the front door of the shack and the small group of boys congregating there when he was hit by a sudden and surprise rush of anger. He turned to face Chuck. “You can’t even tell me anything. I wouldn’t call that taking care of me.” He turned back toward the door, intent on going inside to find some answers. Where this sudden courage and resolve came from, he had no idea. When he suddenly realized what he just said. Thomas covers his mouth with his hands, shocked at what just came out of his mouth. He quickly turns back around, back toward Chuck, when he blurts out an apology. "I'm so sorry-I didn't mean to say that-can you forgive me." Comes out of Thomas's mouth he couldn't even figure out what he was saying.</p>
      <p>Chuck shrugged. “It's fine nothin’ I say’ll do you any good anyway,” he said. “I’m basically still a Newbie, too. But can I be your friend—” “Yeah ... yeah, I'd love to be your friend” Thomas interrupted quickly.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>He had reached the door, an ugly slab of sun-faded wood, and he pulled it open to see several stoic-faced boys standing anxiously at the foot of a crooked staircase, the steps and railings twisted and angled in all directions. Dark wallpaper covered the walls of the foyer and hallway, half of it peeling off. The only decorations in sight were a dusty vase on a three-legged table and a black-and-white picture of an ancient woman dressed in an old-fashioned white dress. It reminded Thomas of a haunted house from a movie or something. There were even planks of wood missing from the floor.</p>
      <p>The place reeked of dust and mildew—a big contrast to the pleasant smells outside. Flickering fluorescent lights shone from the ceiling. He hadn’t thought of it yet, but he had to wonder where the electricity came from in a place like the Glade. He stared at the old woman in the picture. Had she lived here once? Taken care of these people?</p>
      <p>“Hey, look, it’s the Greenbean,” one of the older boys called out. With a start, Thomas realized it was the black-haired guy who’d given him the look of death earlier. He looked like he was fifteen or so, he was tall and had broad shoulders. His eyebrows were sharp and turned down which made it look like he was always angry. “This shank probably klunked his pants when he heard old Benny baby scream like a girl. Need a new diaper, shuck-face?” Thomas could see behind that mask on nonchalance that he was worried for Ben.</p>
      <p>“My name’s Thomas.” He had to get away from this guy. Without another word, he made for the stairs, only because they were close, only because he had no idea what to do or say. But the bully stepped in front of him, holding a hand up.</p>
      <p>“Hold on there, Greenie.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the upper floor. “Newbies aren’t allowed to see someone who’s been ... taken. Newt and Alby won’t allow it.” “What’s your problem?” Thomas asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, trying not to think what the kid had meant by taken. “I don’t even know where I am. All I want is some help.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>“Listen to me, Greenbean.” The boy wrinkled up his face, folded his arms. “I’ve seen you before. Something’s fishy about you showing up here, and I’m gonna find out what.”</p>
      <p>A surge of heat pulsed through Thomas’s veins. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. I have no idea who you are, and I couldn’t care less,” he spat. But really, how would he know? And how could this kid remember him?</p>
      <p>The bully snickered, a short burst of laughter mixed with a phlegm- filled snort. Then his face grew serious, his eyebrows slanting inward even more. “I’ve ... seen you, shank. Not too many in these parts can say they’ve been stung.” He pointed up the stairs. “I have. I know what old Benny baby’s going through. I’ve been there. And I saw you during the Changing.” He reached out and poked Thomas in the chest. “And I bet your first meal from Frypan that Benny’ll say he’s seen ya, too.”</p>
      <p>Thomas refused to break eye contact but decided to say nothing. Panic ate at him once again. Would things ever stop getting worse? “Griever got ya wettin’ yourself?” the boy said through a sneer. “A little scared now? Don’t wanna get stung, do ya?” There was that word again. Stung. Thomas tried not to think about it and pointed up the stairs, from where the moans of the sick kid echoed through the building. “If Newt went up there, then I wanna talk to him.”</p>
      <p>The boy said nothing, stared at Thomas for several seconds. Then he shook his head. “You know what? You’re right, Tommy—I shouldn’t be so mean to Newbies. Go on upstairs and I’m sure Alby and Newt’ll fill you in. Seriously, go on. I’m sorry.”</p>
      <p>He lightly slapped Thomas’s shoulder, then stepped back, gesturing up the stairs. But Thomas knew the kid was up to something. Losing parts of your memory didn’t make you an idiot. “What’s your name?” Thomas asked, stalling for time while he tried to decide if he should go up after all.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>“Gally. And don’t let anyone fool you. I’m the real leader here, not the two geezer shanks upstairs. Me. You can call me Captain Gally if you want.” He smiled for the first time; his teeth surprisingly white, completely the opposite of his personality. Though the opposite could be said about his breath, which escaped just enough for Thomas to get a whiff, reminding him of some horrible memory that was just out of reach. It made his stomach turn.</p>
      <p>“Okay,” he said, so sick of the guy he wanted to scream, punch him in the face. “Captain Gally it is.” He exaggerated a salute, feeling a rush of adrenaline, as he knew he’d just crossed a line.</p>
      <p>A few snickers escaped the crowd, and Gally looked around, his face bright red. He peered back at Thomas, hatred furrowing his brow and crinkling his of nose.</p>
      <p>“Just go up the stairs,” Gally said. “And stay away from me, you little slinthead.” He pointed up again but didn’t take his eyes off Thomas.</p>
      <p>“Fine.” Thomas looked around one more time, embarrassed, confused, angry. He felt the heat of blood in his face. No one made a move to stop him from doing as Gally asked, except for Chuck, who stood at the front door, shaking his head.  “You’re not supposed to,” the younger boy said. “You’re a Newbie— you can’t go up there.” “Go,” said Gally with a sneer. “Go on up.” Gally then took one last look up the stairs and walked out.</p>
      <p>Thomas regretted having come inside in the first place—but he did want to talk to that Newt guy. Not wanting to push his luck he walked up two steps and sat down ... waiting. The steps groaned and creaked under his weight; he might’ve stopped for fear of falling through the old wood, wincing at every splintered sound. Looking up the stairs he could see a landing and a railed hallway leading to several rooms. He squinted, trying to get a closer look from the stairs and could only see one door that had a light coming through the crack at the bottom.</p>
      <p>“The Changing!” Gally shouted from out the door. “Look forward to it, shuck-face!” Thomas ignored it and gestured for Chuck to sit with him.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Chuck started babbling about the food the serve and what the different jobs were. Thomas decided to engage in the conversation to tune out the worry about what was going on in the room that Ben, Alby and Newt were in.</p>
      <p>After a while, the lit door opened, Thomas tried to ignore the onslaught of words he didn’t understand, in favour of listening to Chuck talk about the schedule in the Glade. He did catch a few words, and tried suppressing the dreadful feelings they induced. He gave up and turned to look at the hallway when he saw what was happening in the room.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Inside the room, Newt and Alby crouched over someone lying on a bed. Thomas squinted trying to get a closer look to see what the fuss was all about, but when he got a clear look at the condition of the patient, his heart went cold. He had to fight the bile that surged up his throat.</p>
      <p>The look was fast—only a few seconds—but it was enough to haunt him forever. A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy’s body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth. The image had already burned into Thomas’s mind.</p>
      <p>Alby and Newt walked out shutting the door behind them, blocking the view but not the moans and screams. Thomas quickly turned back around, continuing his conversation with Chuck. “What’re you doing up here, Greenie!” Alby demanded, once he spotted him and Chuck. "You shouldn't be here!" He then rounded on Chuck and asked in a sterner voice, like he was punishing a child. "Shouldn't you be showing him around Chuck?"</p>
      <p>Thomas felt weak. “I ... uh ... wanted to ask some questions,” he murmured, but he couldn’t put any strength in his words—felt himself give up inside. What was going on here? Thomas slouched against the stairs and stared at the floor, not sure what to do next.</p>
      <p>“Get your runtcheeks out of here, right now, you're lucky I didn't catch you up there” Alby ordered. “Chuck’ll help you. If I see you again over here without permission again, you ain’t reachin’ another day alive. I’ll throw you off the Cliff myself, you get me?”</p>
      <p>Thomas felt humiliated and scared. He felt like he’d shrunk to the size of a small rat. Without saying a word, he got up and pushed past Alby and headed out, going as fast as he dared. Ignoring the burning stares of everyone at the bottom as he walked out the door, pulling Chuck by the arm as he did so.</p>
      <p>Thomas hated these people. He hated all of them. Except Chuck ... and maybe Newt. “Lets get away from these guys,” Thomas said. He realized that Chuck might be his only friend in the world by the time this was over. “You got it,” Chuck replied, his voice chipper, as if thrilled to be needed. “But first we should get you some food from Frypan. I'm hungry so you must be too.” “I don’t know if I can ever eat again.” Not after the glimpse of what he’d just seen. Chuck nodded. “Yeah, you will. I’ll meet you at the same tree as before. Ten minutes.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas was more than happy to get away from the house, and headed back toward the tree. He’d only known what it was like to be alive here for a short while and he already wanted it to end. He wished for all the world he could remember something about his previous life. Anything. His mom, his dad, a friend, his school, a hobby. A boy?</p>
      <p>He blinked hard several times, trying to get the image of what he’d just seen in the shack out of his mind.</p>
      <p>The Changing. Gally had called it the Changing.<br/>It wasn’t cold, but Thomas shuddered once again.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>At least he didn't get into as much trouble as he would have if he had chosen to go up the stairs. If luck is on my side there might be another chapter out tomorrow but I wouldn't hold my breath. Let me know what you think so far in the comments and I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! </p>
<p>See you next time!<br/>Oupster</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Home ... Where is that?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back with a longer chapter, I hope you all enjoy reading it because I enjoyed writing it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas leaned against the tree as he waited for Chuck. He scanned the area of the Glade, this new place of nightmares where he seemed destined to live his life in. The shadows from the walls had lengthened considerably, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stone faces on the other side. The odd thing was that the ivy didn't even come close to reaching the top even though it looked like nothing was stopping it from growing higher.</p>
      <p>At least this helped Thomas know directions—the wooden building crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow, the grove of trees in the southwest. The farm area, where a few workers were still picking their way through the fields, spread across the entire northeast quarter of the Glade. The animals were in the southeast corner, mooing, crowing or baying. In the exact middle of the courtyard, the still-gaping hole of the Box lay open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go home, it down there was his home. Near that, maybe twenty feet to the south, stood a squat building made of rough concrete blocks, a menacing iron door its only entrance—there were no windows. A large round handle resembling a steel steering wheel marked the only way to open the door, just like something within a submarine. Despite what he’d just seen, Thomas didn’t know which he felt more strongly—curiosity to know what was inside, or dread at finding out. Thomas had just moved his attention to the four vast openings in the middle of the main walls of the Glade when Chuck arrived, a couple of sandwiches cradled in his arms, along with apples and two metal cups of water. The sense of relief that flooded through Thomas surprised him— he wasn’t completely alone in this place.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>“Frypan wasn’t too happy about me invading his kitchen before suppertime,” Chuck said, sitting down next to the tree, motioning to Thomas to do the same. He did, grabbed the sandwich, but hesitated, the writhing, monstrous image of what he’d seen in the shack popping back into his mind. Soon, though, his hunger won out and he took a huge bite. The wonderful tastes of ham and cheese and mayonnaise filled his mouth. “Ah, man,” Thomas mumbled through a mouthful. “I was starving.” “Told ya.” Chuck hungrily chomped into his own sandwich. After another couple of bites, Thomas finally asked the question that had been bothering him. “What’s actually wrong with that Ben guy? He doesn’t even look human anymore.” Chuck glanced over at the house. “Don’t really know,” he muttered absently. “I didn’t see him.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas could tell the boy was being less than honest but decided not to press him. “Well, you don’t want to see him, trust me.” He continued to eat, munching on the apples as he studied the huge breaks in the walls. Though it was hard to make out from where he sat, there was something odd about the stone edges of the exits to the outside corridors. He felt an uncomfortable sense of vertigo looking at the towering walls, as if he hovered above them instead of sitting at their base. Now he just had the prickling feeling of being watched, like someone was examining him under a magnifying glass - trying to pick him apart.</p>
      <p>“What’s out there?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. “Is this part of a huge castle or something?” Chuck hesitated. Looked uncomfortable. “Um, I’ve never been outside the Glade.” Thomas paused. “You’re hiding something,” he finally replied, finishing off his last bite and taking a long swig of water. The frustration at getting no answers from anyone was starting to grind his nerves. It only made it worse to think that even if he did get answers, he wouldn’t know if he’d be getting the truth. “Why are you guys so secretive?” “That’s just the way it is. Things are really weird around here, and most of us don’t know everything. Half of everything.” It bothered Thomas that Chuck didn’t seem to care about what he’d just said. That he seemed indifferent to having his life taken away from him. What was wrong with these people? Thomas got to his feet and started walking toward the eastern opening. “Well, no one said I couldn’t look around.” He needed to learn something or he was going to lose his mind.</p>
      <p>“Whoa, wait!” Chuck cried, running to catch up. “Be careful, those puppies are about to close.” He already sounded out of breath. “Close?” Thomas repeated. “What are you talking about?” “The Doors, you shank.” “Doors? I don’t see any doors.” Thomas knew Chuck wasn’t just making stuff up—he knew he was missing something obvious. Nevertheless, what he was saying sounded too familiar and rubbed him the wrong way. Almost like this was his fault. He grew uneasy and realized he’d slowed his pace, not so eager to reach the walls anymore. “What do you call those big openings?” Chuck pointed up at the enormously tall gaps in the walls. They were only thirty feet away now. “I’d call them big openings,” Thomas said, trying to counter his discomfort with sarcasm and disappointed that it wasn’t working. “Well, they’re doors. And they close up every night.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas stopped, thinking Chuck had to have said something wrong. He looked up, looked side to side, examined the massive slabs of stone as the uneasy feeling blossomed into outright dread. “What do you mean, they close?” “Just see for yourself in a minute. The Runners’ll be back soon; then those big walls are going to move until the gaps are closed.” “You’re jacked in the head,” Thomas muttered. He couldn’t see how the mammoth walls could possibly be mobile—felt so sure of it he relaxed, thinking Chuck was just playing a trick on him. They reached the huge split that led outside to more stone pathways. Thomas gaped, his mind emptying of thought as he saw it all firsthand. “This is called the East Door,” Chuck said, as if proudly revealing a piece of art he’d created.</p>
      <p>Thomas barely heard him, shocked by how much bigger it was up close. At least twenty feet across, the break in the wall went all the way to the top, far above. The edges that bordered the vast opening were smooth, except for one odd, repeating pattern on both sides. On the left side of the East Door, deep holes several inches in diameter and spaced a foot apart were bored into the rock, beginning near the ground and continuing all the way up. On the right side of the Door, foot-long rods jutted out from the wall edge, also several inches in diameter, in the same pattern as the holes facing them on the other side. The purpose was obvious. “Are you kidding?” Thomas asked, the dread slamming back into his gut. “You weren’t playing with me? The walls really move?” “What else would I have meant?”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas had a hard time wrapping his mind around the possibility. “I don’t know. I figured there was a door that swung shut or a little mini- wall that slid out of the big one. How could these walls move? They’re huge, and they look like they’ve been standing here for a thousand years.” And the idea of those walls closing and trapping him inside this place they called the Glade was downright terrifying. Chuck threw his arms up, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know, they just move. Makes one heck of a grinding noise. Same thing happens out in the Maze—those walls shift every night, too.” Thomas, his attention suddenly snapped up by a new detail, turned to face the younger boy. “What did you just say?” “Huh?” “You just called it a maze—you said, ‘same thing happens out in the maze.’” Chuck’s face reddened. “I’m done with you. I’m done.” He walked back toward the tree they’d just left.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Thomas ignored him, more interested than ever in the outside of the Glade. A maze? In front of him, through the East Door, he could make out passages leading to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. And the walls of the corridors were similar to those that surrounded the Glade, the ground made of the same massive stone blocks as in the courtyard. The ivy seemed even thicker out there but not any taller. In the distance, more breaks in the walls led to other paths, and farther down, maybe a hundred yards or so away, the straight passage came to a dead end.</p>
      <p>“Looks like a maze,” Thomas whispered, almost laughing to himself. As if things couldn’t have gotten any stranger. They’d wiped his memory and stuck him inside a gigantic maze. Almost like the people who put him here were trying to say, "good luck trying to stay alive mate, you're stuck here for good". It was all so crazy it really did seem funny - like it was just a big joke and that he would wake up in the morning and realize it was just a horrible dream.</p>
      <p>His heart skipped a beat when a boy unexpectedly appeared around a corner up ahead, entering the main passage from one of the offshoots to the right, running toward him and the Glade. Covered in sweat, his face red, clothes sticking to his body, the boy didn’t slow, hardly glancing at Thomas as he went past. He headed straight for the squat concrete building located near the Box. Thomas turned as he passed, his eyes riveted to the exhausted runner, unsure why this new development surprised him so much. Why wouldn’t people go out and search the maze? Then he realized others were entering through the remaining three Glade openings, all of them running and looking as ragged as the guy who’d just whisked by him. There couldn’t be much good about the maze if these guys came back looking so weary and worn. He walked a couple meters away from the opening and pressed himself into the wall. Trying to blend in with the ivy in hopes of not getting caught and yelled at again.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Thomas watched, curious, as they met at the big iron door of the small building; one of the boys turned the rusty wheel handle, grunting with the effort. Chuck had said something about runners earlier. What had they been doing out there? The big door finally popped open, and with a deafening squeal of metal against metal, the boys swung it wide. They disappeared inside, pulling it shut behind them with a loud clonk. Thomas stared, his mind churning to come up with any possible explanation for what he’d just witnessed. Nothing developed, but something about that creepy old building gave him goose bumps, a disquieting chill.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>He saw Chuck come back, looking around for him. Thomas pushed himself off the wall and walked towards him. Before Thomas had a chance to think, questions were rushing out of his mouth. “Who are those guys and what were they doing? What’s in that building?” He wheeled around and pointed out the East Door. “And why do you live inside a freaking maze?” He felt a rattling pressure of uncertainty, making his head splinter with pain. “I’m not saying another word,” Chuck replied, a new authority filling his voice. “I think you should get to bed early—you’ll need your sleep. Ah”—he stopped, held up a finger, pricking up his right ear—”it’s about to happen.” “What?” Thomas asked, thinking it kind of strange that Chuck was suddenly acting like an adult instead of the little kid desperate for a friend he’d been only moments earlier.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>A loud boom exploded through the air, making Thomas jump. It was followed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. He stumbled backward, fell to the ground. It felt as if the whole earth shook; he looked around, panicked. The walls were closing. The walls were really closing—trapping him inside the Glade. An onrushing sense of claustrophobia stifled him, compressed his lungs, as if water filled their cavities. “Calm down, Greenie,” Chuck yelled over the noise. “It’s just the walls!” Thomas barely heard him, too fascinated, too shaken by the closing of the Doors. He scrambled to his feet and took a few trembling steps back for a better view, finding it hard to believe what his eyes were seeing.</p>
      <p>The enormous stone wall to the right of them seemed to defy every known law of physics as it slid along the ground, throwing sparks and dust as it moved, rock against rock. The crunching sound rattled his bones. Thomas realized that only that wall was moving, heading for its neighbour to the left, ready to seal shut with its protruding rods slipping into the drilled holes across from it. He looked around at the other openings. It felt like his head was spinning faster than his body, and his stomach flipped over with the dizziness. On all four sides of the Glade, only the right walls were moving, toward the left, closing the gap of the Doors.</p>
      <p>Impossible, he thought. How can they do that? He fought the urge to run out there, slip past the moving slabs of rock before they shut, flee the Glade. Common sense won out—the maze held even more unknowns than his situation inside.</p>
      <p>He tried to picture in his mind how the structure of it all worked. Massive stone walls, hundreds of feet high, moving like sliding glass doors—an image from his past life that flashed through his thoughts. He tried to grasp the memory, hold on to it, complete the picture with faces, names, a place, but it faded into obscurity. A pang of sadness pricked through his other swirling emotions.</p>
      <p>He watched as the right wall reached the end of its journey, its connecting rods finding their mark and entering without a glitch. An echoing boom rumbled across the Glade as all four Doors sealed shut for the night. Thomas felt one final moment of trepidation, a quick slice of fear through his body, and then it vanished. A surprising sense of calm eased his nerves; he let out a long sigh of relief. “Wow,” he said, feeling dumb at such a monumental understatement. “Ain’t nothin’, as Alby would say,” Chuck murmured. “You kind of get used to it after a while.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas looked around one more time, the feel of the place completely different now that all the walls were solid with no way out. He tried to imagine the purpose of such a thing, and he didn’t know which guess was worse—that they were being sealed in or that they were being protected from something out there. The thought ended his brief moment of calm, stirring in his mind a million possibilities of what might live in the maze outside, all of them terrifying. Fear gripped him once again. “Come on,” Chuck said, pulling at Thomas’s sleeve a second time. “Trust me, when nighttime strikes, you want to be in bed.”</p>
      <p>Thomas knew he had no other choice. He did his best to suppress everything he was feeling and followed.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>They ended up near the back of the Homestead—that was what Chuck called the leaning structure of wood and windows—in a dark shadow between the building and the stone wall behind it.</p>
      <p>“Where are we going?” Thomas asked, still feeling the weight of seeing those walls close, thinking about the maze, the confusion, the fear. He told himself to stop or he’d drive himself crazy. Trying to grasp a sense of normalcy, he made a weak attempt at a joke. “If you’re looking for a goodnight kiss, forget it <strike>because it's not you who gets one</strike>.” Chuck didn’t miss a beat. “Just shut up and stay close.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>A couple of hours later, Thomas was lying in a soft sleeping bag next to Chuck on a bed of grass near the gardens. It was a wide lawn that he hadn’t noticed before, and quite a few of the group chose it as their bedtime spot. Thomas thought that was strange, but apparently there wasn’t enough room inside the Homestead. At least it was warm. Which made him wonder for the millionth time where they were. His mind had a hard time grasping names of places, or remembering countries or rulers, how the world was organized. And none of the kids in the Glade had a clue, either—at least, they weren’t sharing if they did.</p>
      <p>He lay in silence for the longest time, trying to ignore the feeling of loneliness almost like he was missing something, he was supposed to have - grown used to having when falling asleep. He tried to make the feeling subside by admiring the stars and looking for the constellations he knows and listening to the soft murmurs of various conversations drifting across the Glade. Sleep felt miles away, and he couldn’t shake the loneliness, despair and hopelessness that coursed through his body and mind.</p>
      <p>It’d been one endless—and strange—day.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>It was just so ... weird. He remembered lots of little things about life— eating, clothes, studying, playing, general images of the makeup of the world. But any detail that would fill in the picture to create a true and complete memory had been erased somehow. It was like looking at an image through a foot of muddy water. More than anything else, perhaps, he felt ... sad.</p>
      <p>The only true memory he could remember was half of one. He could remember a long, white, sterile corridor, 5 people in heavily armoured suits, with guns - "guards", he thought. He remembers the feelings of anguish, hopelessness, and guilt. He remembers screaming a name, though he can't remember what name and he remembers the guards dragging a lithe, blonde boy away down the corridor.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Chuck interrupted his thoughts. “Well, Greenie, you survived First Day.” “Barely.” Not now, Chuck, he wanted to say. I’m not in the mood. Chuck pulled himself up to lean on an elbow, looking at Thomas. “You’ll learn a lot in the next couple of days, start getting used to things. Good that?” “Um, yeah, good that, I guess. Where’d all these weird words and phrases come from, anyway?” It seemed like they’d taken some other language and melded it with his own. Chuck flopped back down with a heavy thump. “I don’t know—I’ve only been here a month, remember?” Thomas wondered about Chuck, whether he knew more than he let on. He was a quirky kid, funny, and he seemed innocent, but who was to say? Really he was just as mysterious as everything else in the Glade.</p>
      <p>A few minutes passed, and Thomas felt the long day finally catch up to him, the leaded edge of sleep crossing over his mind. But—like a fist had shoved it in his brain and let go—a thought popped into his head. One that he didn’t expect, and he wasn’t sure from where it came.</p>
      <p>Suddenly, the Glade, the walls, the Maze—it all seemed ... familiar. Comfortable - but didn't feel like home. His home was somewhere else ... with someone else. Except who is that someone? A slight warmth of calmness spread through his chest, and for the first time since he’d found himself there, he didn’t feel like the Glade was the worst place in the universe <strike>but it wasn't the best either</strike>. He stilled, felt his eyes widen, his breathing stop for a long moment. What just happened? he thought. What changed? Ironically, the feeling that things would be okay made him slightly uneasy. This isn't normal, what is making me feel like this? Is someone making me feel this way? These thoughts were swirling though his head making him feel uneasy. Even though something is trying to make him feel comfortable here, like something wants him to stop trying to figure out what is wrong. Making Thomas want to investigate more because something is clearly wrong with this place.</p>
      <p>Not quite understanding how, he knew what he needed to do. Even though every instinct is going against this. He didn’t get it. The feeling—the epiphany—was a strange one, foreign and familiar at the same time. But it felt ... right <strike>wrong</strike>. Instead of doing what feels right he emptied his mind and continued looking at the constellations.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>"Good night, Chuck", Thomas whispered. “Go to sleep.” Chuck grumbled, and rolled over. </p>
      <p>Thomas couldn’t stop those thoughts streaming into his mind even though he reassured himself that he wouldn't go along with them. It's ok to be curious but it's definitely not ok to be outright suicidal. Something out there—it feels familiar... Then it hit Thomas—he felt like several pieces of a puzzle had been put together. He didn’t know what the ultimate picture would be, but his next words almost felt like they were coming from someone else. As he got closer to falling asleep a though came through his head, I ... I think I’ve been here before.</p>
      <p>Thomas rolled over and squeezed his eyes tightly. Trying to ignore the feeling that everything happening here is his fault.</p>
      <p>Sleep came much more easily than he’d expected.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm currently writing a second chapter to go along with this one and it should be up by the end of the weekend. Feel free to kudos and comment on this chapter. Have a good weekend everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. That Wasn't a Nightmare, it was a Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the last chapter for the weekend. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Staying asleep though; that is much harder than falling asleep.</p><hr/><p>Thomas felt like he was awake but everything was blury. He tried blinking but that didn't work. He saw blond hair and he felt hands trying to hold onto his until they were wrenched away. The boy was dragged down the hall as he was screaming, "please ... no ... let me go ... get off of me."</p><hr/><p>The memory slowly fades to darkness and Thomas jolts awake with a gasp He opens his eyes and immediately realized he never left. The Glade is quiet with everyone fast asleep. Thomas quietly gets out of his sleeping bag and walks toward the grove of trees. He sits down and leans against a tree looking around the Glade in the darkness, trying to take in everything he can see. His thoughts keep going back to that memory, hw can't forget in no matter how much he wants to. So he just sits against the tree with tears threatening to spill down his face until they inevitably do.</p><hr/><p>The sun finally starts to rise when he is found. He hears the grass shifting as someone walks towards him everything around him still shadowed by the darkness of early morning making it hard to see. Thomas just nodded his head in the direction of the person.</p><p>“What are ya doin' up so early, Greenie?” It was Newt—Alby's Second in Command.</p><p>Though Thomas was surprised, he couldn’t help being curious, wondering what this boy wanted with him. Thomas nodded, doing his best to say yes with his eyes, until Newt finally sat down and leaned his back against the tree beside him. He took in Thomas's puffy eyes, slack expression and how he was staring at his hands and not moving. "Rough night?" Newt asked gently. He just nodded, not really sure. They just leaned against their respective trees, watching the sun rise.</p><p></p><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>“Come on, Greenie,” the tall boy whispered as he stood. He reached down and helped Thomas to his feet—he was so strong it felt like he could rip Thomas’s arm off. “Supposed to show ya somethin’ before the wake-up.” “Okay,” he wispered dejectedly, ready to follow.  “Where are we going?” Thomas asked as they walked. “Just follow me. And stay close.” Newt whispered back.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Once they left the grove and stepped onto the hard gray stone of the courtyard floor, Newt broke into a run, heading for the western wall. Thomas hesitated at first, wondering why he needed to run, but snapped out of it quickly and followed at the same pace. The light was dim, but any obstructions loomed as darker shadows and he was able to make his way quickly along. He stopped when Newt did, right next to the massive wall towering above them like a skyscraper—another random image that floated in the murky pool of his memory wipe. Thomas noticed small red lights flashing here and there along the wall’s face, moving about, stopping, turning off and on. “What are those?” he whispered as loudly as he dared, wondering if his voice sounded as shaky as he felt. The twinkling red glow of the lights held an undercurrent of warning. Newt stood just a couple of feet in front of the thick curtain of ivy on the wall. “When you bloody need to know, you’ll know, Greenie.” “Well, it’s kind of stupid to send me to a place where nothing makes sense and not answer my questions.” Thomas paused, surprised at himself. “Shank,” he added, throwing all the sarcasm he could into the syllable. Newt broke out in a laugh, but quickly cut it off. “I like you, Greenie. Now shut it and let me show ya somethin’.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>Newt stepped forward and dug his hands into the thick ivy, spreading several vines away from the wall to reveal a dust-frosted window, a square about two feet wide. It was dark at the moment, as if it had been painted black. “What’re we looking for?” Thomas whispered. “Hold your undies, boy. One’ll be comin’ along soon enough.” A minute passed, then two. Several more. Thomas fidgeted on his feet, wondering how Newt could stand there, perfectly patient and still, staring into nothing but darkness. Then it changed.</p>
  <p>Glimmers of an eerie light shone through the window; it cast a wavering spectrum of colors on Newt’s body and face, as if he stood next to a lighted swimming pool. Thomas grew perfectly still, squinting, trying to make out what was on the other side. A thick lump grew in his throat. What is that? he thought. “Out there’s the Maze,” Newt whispered, eyes wide as if in a trance. “Everything we do—our whole life, Greenie—revolves around the Maze. Every lovin’ second of every lovin’ day we spend in honor of the Maze, tryin’ to solve somethin’ that’s not shown us it has a bloody solution, ya know? And we want to show ya why it’s not to be messed with. Show ya why them buggin’ walls close shut every night. Show ya why you should never, never find your butt out there.”</p>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>Newt stepped back, still holding on to the ivy vines. He gestured for Thomas to take his place and look through the window. Thomas did, leaning forward until his nose touched the cool surface of the glass. It took a second for his eyes to focus on the moving object on the other side, to look past the grime and dust and see what Newt wanted him to see. And when he did, he felt his breath catch in his throat, like an icy wind had blown down there and frozen the air solid.</p>
  <p>A large, bulbous creature the size of a cow but with no distinct shape twisted and seethed along the ground in the corridor outside. It climbed the opposite wall, then leaped at the thick-glassed window with a loud thump. Thomas gasped before he could stop himself, jerked away from the window—but the thing bounced backward, leaving the glass undamaged. Thomas sucked in two huge breaths and leaned in once again. It was too dark to make out clearly, but odd lights flashed from an unknown source, revealing blurs of silver spikes and glistening flesh. Wicked instrument-tipped appendages protruded from its body like arms: a saw blade, a set of shears, long rods whose purpose could only be guessed. The creature was a horrific mix of animal and machine, and seemed to realize it was being observed, seemed to know what lay inside the walls of the Glade, seemed to want to get inside and feast on human flesh. Thomas felt an icy terror blossom in his chest, expand like a tumor, making it hard to breathe. Even with the memory wipe, he felt sure he’d never seen something so truly awful.</p>
  <p>He stepped back, the courage he’d felt the previous evening melting away. “What is that thing?” he asked. Something shivered in his gut, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to eat again. “Grievers, we call ’em,” Newt answered. “Nasty bugger, eh? Just be glad the Grievers only come out at night. Be thankful for these walls.”</p>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>Thomas swallowed, wondering how he could ever go out there. His desire to become a Runner had taken a major blow. But he had to do it. Somehow he knew he had to do it. It was such an odd thing to feel, especially after what he’d just seen. Newt looked at the window absently. “Now you know what bloody lurks in the Maze, my friend. Now you know this isn’t joke time. You’ve been sent to the Glade, Greenie, and we’ll be expectin’ ya to survive and help us do what we’ve been sent here to do.” “And what’s that?” Thomas asked, even though he was terrified to hear the answer. Newt turned to look him dead in the eye. The first traces of dawn had crept up on them, and Thomas could see every detail of Newt’s face, his skin tight, his brow creased. “Find our way out, Greenie,” Newt said. “Solve the buggin’ Maze and find our way home.”</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>A couple of hours later, the doors having reopened, rumbling and grumbling and shaking the ground until they were finished, Thomas sat at a worn, tilted picnic table outside the Homestead. All he could think about was the Grievers, what their purpose could be, what they did out there during the night. What it would be like to be attacked by something so terrible.</p>
      <p>He tried to get the image out of his head, move on to something else. The Runners. They’d just left without saying a word to anybody, bolting into the Maze at full speed and disappearing around corners. He pictured them in his mind as he picked at his eggs and bacon with a fork, speaking to no one, not even Chuck, who ate silently next to him. The poor guy had exhausted himself trying to start a conversation with Thomas, who’d refused to respond. All he wanted was to be left alone. He just didn’t get it; his brain was on overload trying to compute the sheer impossibility of the situation. How could a maze, with walls so massive and tall, be so big that dozens of kids hadn’t been able to solve it after who knew how long trying? How could such a structure exist? And more importantly, why? What could possibly be the purpose of such a thing? Why were they all there? How long had they been there? Try as he might to avoid it, his mind still kept wandering back to the image of the vicious Griever. Its phantom brother seemed to leap at him every time he blinked or rubbed his eyes.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>Thomas knew he was a smart kid—he somehow felt it in his bones. But nothing about this place made any sense. Except for one thing. He was supposed to be a Runner. Why did he feel that so strongly? And even now, after seeing what lived in the maze? <strike>There is definitely something going on behind the scenes because he shouldn't feel this way especially after seeing that grotesque creature</strike>.</p>
  <p>A tap on his shoulder jarred him from his thoughts; he looked up to see Alby standing behind him, arms folded. “Ain’t you lookin’ fresh?” Alby said. “Get a nice view out the window this morning?” Thomas stood, hoping the time for answers had come—or maybe hoping for a distraction from his gloomy thoughts. “Enough to make me want to learn about this place,” he said, hoping to avoid provoking the temper he’d seen flare in this guy the day before. Alby nodded. “Me and you, shank. The Tour begins now.” He started to move but then stopped, holding up a finger. “Ain’t no questions till the end, you get me? Ain’t got time to jaw with you all day.”</p>
  <p>“But ...” Thomas stopped when Alby’s eyebrows shot up. Why did the guy have to be such a jerk? “But tell me everything—I wanna know everything.” He’d decided the night before not to tell anyone else how strangely familiar the place seemed, the odd feeling that he’d been there before—that he could remember things about it. Sharing that seemed like a very bad idea. “I’ll tell ya what I wanna tell ya, Greenie. Let’s go.” “Can I come?” Chuck asked from the table. Alby reached down and tweaked the boy’s ear. “Ow!” Chuck shrieked. “Ain’t you got a job, slinthead?” Alby asked. “Lots of sloppin’ to do?” Chuck rolled his eyes, then looked at Thomas. “Have fun.” “I’ll try.” He suddenly felt sorry for Chuck, wished people would treat the kid better. But there was nothing he could do about it—it was time to go.</p>
</div><div class="page">
  <p>He walked away with Alby, hoping the Tour had officially begun.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll see you next weekend when the next chapter is up. So long till then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Teresa Makes a Self-Discovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm trying out writing in Teresa's POV, lets see how it goes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>W.I.C.K.E.D. Headquarters </strong> <em>(Takes place where the last chapter ended off.)</em></p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Teresa POV</strong>
</p><p>Now that Thomas's memories have been wiped and he has been placed in the maze. It is time to finish up phase one after the flare infection finally got under control.</p><p>I didn't want Thomas or Rachel to get swiped because W.I.C.K.E.D. isn't always good. But W.I.C.K.E.D. is trying to save the world because even if sacrifices have to be made, compared to civilization dying out I think that is a small drop in the bucket.</p><p>But then, to loose my only family who I have now, who I grew up with ... would I even want to save humanity then?</p><p>But then isn't a little agony worth it?</p><p>No-NO, I am going to help Dr. Paige, find a cure to the flare, I have to for Mark, Trina, Alec and Lana, I have to do it for them.</p><p>This is what they would've wanted?</p><p>Or is it, wouldn't they've wanted me to keep my family safe?</p><p>Yes, family is worth everything, he is all I have left, I can't lose him. I just can't do it ... but can't go down or I'll never come back.</p><hr/><p><strong>The Maze, The Glade</strong> <em>(Takes place during Teresa's internal monologue)</em></p><hr/><p>He walked away with Alby, hoping the Tour had officially begun.</p><p></p><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>They started at the Box, which was closed at the moment—double doors of metal lying flat on the ground, covered in white paint, faded and cracked. The day had brightened considerably, the shadows stretching in the opposite direction from what Thomas had seen yesterday. He still hadn’t spotted the sun, but it looked like it was about to pop over the eastern wall at any minute.</p>
      <p>Alby pointed down at the doors. “This here’s the Box. Once a month, we get a Newbie like you, never fails. Once a week, we get supplies, clothes, some food. Ain’t needin’ a lot—pretty much run ourselves in the Glade.”</p>
      <p>Thomas nodded, his whole body itching with the desire to ask questions. I need some tape to put over my mouth, he thought.</p>
      <p>“We don’t know jack about the Box, you get me?” Alby continued. “Where it came from, how it gets here, who’s in charge. The shanks that sent us here ain’t told us nothin’. We got all the electricity we need, grow and raise most of our food, get clothes and such. Tried to send a slinthead Greenie back in the Box one time—thing wouldn’t move till we took him out.”</p>
      <p>Thomas wondered what lay under the doors when the Box wasn’t there, but held his tongue. He felt such a mixture of emotions—curiosity, frustration, wonder—all laced with the lingering horror of seeing the Griever that morning.</p>
      <p>Alby kept talking, never bothering to look Thomas in the eye. “Glade’s cut into four sections.” He held up his fingers as he counted off the next four words. “Gardens, Blood House, Homestead, Deadheads. You got that?”</p>
      <p>Thomas hesitated, then shook his head, confused.</p>
      <p>Alby’s eyelids fluttered briefly as he continued; he looked like he could think of a thousand things he’d rather be doing right then. He pointed to the northeast corner, where the fields and fruit trees were located. “Gardens—where we grow the crops. Water’s pumped in through pipes in the ground—always has been, or we’d have starved to death a long time ago. Never rains here. Never.” He pointed to the southeast corner, at the animal pens and barn. “Blood House—where we raise and slaughter animals.”</p>
      <p>He pointed at the pitiful living quarters. “Homestead—stupid place is twice as big than when the first of us got here because we keep addin’ to it when they send us wood and klunk. Ain’t pretty, but it works. Most of us sleep outside anyway.” "Though the builders are collectin' materials to rebuild it. Apparently, they got bored and need a new project or somethin' along those lines. But that's better than those shuckfaces beating each other up and having the medjacks fixing them all day."</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Thomas felt dizzy. So many questions splintered his mind he couldn’t keep them straight.</p>
      <p>Alby pointed to the southwest corner, the forest area fronted with several sickly trees and benches. “Call that the Deadheads. Graveyard’s back in that corner, in the thicker woods. Ain’t much else. You can go there to sit and rest, hang out, whatever.” He cleared his throat, as if wanting to change subjects. “You’ll spend the next two weeks working one day apiece for our different job Keepers—until we know what you’re best at. Slopper, Bricknick, Bagger, Track-hoe—somethin’ll stick, always does. Come on.”</p>
      <p>"What are all the jobs here because there can't only be four?" implored Thomas. "You're to curious for yer own good greenie" Alby sighed, "well since you asked there are the Sloppers, Bricknicks, Baggers and Track-hoes which I already mentioned and there are also the Runners, Builders, Cooks, Slicers, Med-jacks, Blood Housers and Map Makers." "Well, what do they do, I don't even know what half of those words even mean." complained Thomas. "Slow down greenie, I'm gettin' around to it" Alby said exasperatedly "sometimes you're worse than Chuckie."</p>
      <p>"The Sloppers are the ones who aren't particularly skilled in any of the jobs, so they mainly help around here by doing the dirty tasks that others don't want to do, such as cleaning up the Blood House, the kitchen, toilets, and showers."</p>
      <p>"The Bricknicks are the ones who have similar responsibilities to the Builders, and before you ask I'll tell you what they do but are mainly tasked with repairing structures." Thomas didn't even have a chance to open his mouth to ask but Alby was already talking about the next job as they slowly made their way to the South Door.</p>
      <p>"The Baggers are the ones in charge of burying dead Gladers." Thomas opened his mouth to speak when Alby quickly budded in with a "your questions will be answered in time not by goin' 'round and botherin' other Gladers." and continued speaking like he never stopped in the first place. "The Baggers also act as guards and police around the Glade."</p>
      <p>"There are two sections in the Track-hoes. There are the Track-hoes who do the hard work around the plants, like trenching and there are the Gardeners who take care of the plants in the Gardens. They do the weeding, pruning, planting seeds, and harvesting veggies but those are only a few of the examples of the things they do."</p>
      <p>"The Runners are the only ones who are allowed to go out into the Maze. They are the strongest, fastest, and the best of us but don't tell them that or they'll get big heads. The Runners run the Maze everyday, trying to find a way out. They make maps of the paths they run which are saved in the Map Room. They leave when the doors to the Maze open in the morning, and return right before the doors close. They also get special equipment like trainers and watches because they need them when running the maze."</p>
      <p>"The Builders are the ones who build most of the things around here, such as structures and other simple items that would help with carrying and moving things around. They also upgrade the structures and buildings."</p>
      <p>"The Cooks are the ones responsible for preparing the meals. They spend most of their time in the kitchen."</p>
      <p>"The Slicers feed and raise the livestock such as pigs, hogs, cows, sheeps, chickens, and turkeys, which are all kept in pens in the Blood House area. They also clean, fix fences, and scrape up klunk. They are the ones who slaughter the animals, such as hogs, so they can be prepared by the Cooks for eating."</p>
      <p>"The Med-jacks are the ones who patch us up. There are only two of them around here so try not to get injured too much. Unless you're a builder 'cause that comes with the job."</p>
      <p>"The Blood Housers work in Blood House. Slicers can also be called that but the Blood Housers just maintain the Blood House, they don't work with the animals."</p>
      <p>" Then we have the Map Makers they are the ones who make the maps of the Maze from the maps the Runners make."<b></b></p>
      <p>"Thomas, before you run off with your visions of grandeur ... of being Runner. Hear me out, for 2 years, we have been wary of what's out there since the beginning. You saw the Griever in the window, why no one but the runners can go in the maze, why no one goes into the maze at night. We stay away from the Grievers allowing us to co-exist with them. You can't go around and start shakin' foundations greenie. It will break the delicate balance we have in the Glade, there will be riots and mass panic. That's what gets people killed, whatever thoughts that are running through your head needs to stop. Whatever questions you have will be answered with time. You just have to accept that this is your new normal, your new life. Once you're busy, you'll be happy, you'll thank me later. Now come on this tour isn't gonna lead itself."</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Alby walked toward the South Door, located between what he’d called the Deadheads and the Blood House. Thomas followed, wrinkling his nose up at the sudden smell of dirt and manure coming from the animal pens. Graveyard? he thought. Why do they need a graveyard in a place full of teenagers? Alby told him not to ask questions and that they will be answered with time before Alby's speech he came as close to interrupting Alby, but willed his mouth shut and continued listening to what Alby is telling him.</p>
      <p>He turned his attention to the pens in the Blood House area.</p>
      <p>Several cows nibbled and chewed at a trough full of greenish hay. Pigs lounged in a muddy pit, an occasionally flickering tail the only sign they were alive. Another pen held sheep, and there were chicken coops and turkey cages as well. Workers bustled about the area, looking as if they’d spent their whole lives on a farm.</p>
      <p>Why do I remember these animals? Thomas wondered. Nothing about them seemed new or interesting—he knew what they were called, what they normally ate, what they looked like. Why was stuff like that still lodged in his memory, but not where he’d seen animals before, or with whom? His memory loss was baffling in its complexity.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <p>Alby pointed to the large barn in the back corner, its red paint long faded to a dull rust color. “Back there’s where the Slicers work. Nasty stuff, that. Nasty. If you like blood, you can be a Slicer.”</p>
      <p>Thomas shook his head. Slicer didn’t sound good at all. As they kept walking, he focused his attention on the other side of the Glade, the grove of trees Alby had called the Deadheads. The trees grew thicker and denser the farther back in the corner they went, more alive and full of leaves. Dark shadows filled the depths of the wooded area, despite the time of day. Thomas looked up, squinting to see that the sun was finally visible, though it looked odd—more orange than it should be. It hit him that this was yet another example of the odd selective memory in his mind.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>He returned his gaze to the Deadheads, a glowing disk still floating in his vision. Blinking to clear it away, he suddenly caught the red lights again, flickering and skittering about deep in the darkness of the woods. What are those things? he wondered, irritated that Alby hadn’t answered him earlier. The secrecy was very annoying.</p>
      <p>Alby stopped walking, and Thomas was surprised to see they’d reached the South Door; the two walls bracketing the exit towered above them. The thick slabs of gray stone were cracked and covered in ivy, as ancient as anything Thomas could imagine. He craned his neck to see the top of the walls far above; his mind spun with the odd sensation that he was looking down, not up. He staggered back a step, awed once again by the structure of his new home, then finally returned his attention to Alby, who had his back to the exit.</p>
      <p>“Out there’s the Maze.” Alby jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, then paused. Thomas stared in that direction, through the gap in the walls that served as an exit from the Glade. The corridors out there looked much the same as the ones he’d seen from the window by the East Door early that morning. This thought gave him a chill, made him wonder if a Griever might come charging toward them at any minute. He took a step backward before realizing what he was doing. Calm down, he chided himself, embarrassed.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="page">
  <p></p>
  <div class="layoutArea">
    <p></p>
    <div class="column">
      <hr/>
      <p>Alby continued. “Two years, I’ve been here. Ain’t none been here longer. The few that came before me are already dead.” Thomas felt his eyes widen, his heart quicken. “Two years we’ve tried to solve this thing, no luck. Shuckin’ walls move out there at night just as much as these here doors. Mappin’ it out ain’t easy, ain’t easy nohow.” He nodded toward the concrete-blocked building into which the Runners had disappeared the night before.</p>
      <p>Another stab of pain sliced through Thomas’s head—there were too many things to compute at once. They’d been here two years? The walls moved out in the Maze? How many had died? He stepped forward, wanting to see the Maze for himself, as if the answers were printed on the walls out there.</p>
      <p>Alby held out a hand and pushed Thomas in the chest, sent him stumbling backward. “Ain’t no goin’ out there, shank and you already know that.”</p>
      <p>“You think I sent Newt to ya before the wake-up just for kicks? Freak, that’s the Number One Rule, the only one you’ll never be forgiven for breaking. Ain’t nobody—nobody—allowed in the Maze except the Runners. Break that rule, and if you ain’t killed by the Grievers, we’ll kill you ourselves, you get me?”</p>
      <p>Thomas nodded.</p>
      <p>A movement up on the left wall of the South Door caught his attention. Startled, he reacted quickly, looking just in time to see a flash of silver. A patch of ivy shook as the thing disappeared into it.</p>
      <p>Thomas pointed up at the wall. “What was that?” he asked before he could be shut down again.</p>
      <p>Alby didn’t bother looking. “No questions till the end, shank. How many times I gotta tell ya?” He paused, then let out a sigh. “Beetle blades—it’s how the Creators watch us. You better not get any ideas.”</p>
      <p>"I promise I won't go in the maze or anything but can I please have a beetle blade?" pleaded Thomas. Alby pursed his lips and thought about it for a few seconds before sighing, "you're makin' me go soft but fine, use how ever many you want if you can catch them. As lon' as you don't go into the maze, kill us, explode somethin' or anythin' alon' those lines." Alby ruffled Thomas's hair and said, "you start workin' tomorrow but there will be breaks and free time so you can work on your mad scientist projects then." Thomas whooped with joy and exclaimed a happy, "thank you Alby!" Thomas looked like he wanted to hug Alby for a second but decided against it and ran off. "I wasn't-ugh, shanks these days," Alby muttered with a fond eye roll, "they're really making me soft." Alby shook his head fondly and walked off to check on the different Keepers.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can't believe I started writing this on Wednesday. I did so much research to make sure I wasn't missing any key details but if I did miss anything feel free to point it out to me in the comments. The characters seem to be growing a mind of their own like Alby was supposed to be a really strict and gruff character but here he is going soft because of little ol' Tommy and Thomas is just a happy kid going around asking questions he shouldn't be asking and doing experiments. Then there was Teresa with her self-discover and internal monologuing. This was a busy chapter! Well, I hoped you enjoyed it and if you wanted to read the sites I used to write this chapter, go for it! See you next week!</p><p>Site Links:</p><p>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/WICKED#:~:text=World%20In%20Catastrophe%3A%20Killzone%20Experiment,a%20cure%20for%20the%20Flare.</p><p>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/The_Maze</p><p>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/Swipe</p><p>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/Roles#Builder</p><p>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/Aris_Jones#The_Fever_Code</p><p>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/Teresa_Agnes#The_Fever_Code</p><p>https://www.wattpad.com/517654346-teresa-agnes-is-an-innocent-part-ii</p><p>https://www.wattpad.com/517654380-teresa-agnes-is-an-innocent-part-iii</p><p>https://www.wattpad.com/517654402-teresa-agnes-is-an-innocent-part-iv</p><p>https://www.wattpad.com/517654419-teresa-agnes-is-an-innocent-part-v</p><p>https://www.wattpad.com/517654443-teresa-agnes-is-an-innocent-part-vi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Hunt for Beetle Blades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is coming out earlier since I didn't have school yesterday or today. I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Alby walks off to talk to Winston about how the Slicers are doing, Thomas runs off to get Newt to help him collect Beetle Blades. He remembers seeing Newt helping out at the Gardens and runs in that direction, his eyes scanning the surroundings for blond hair.</p>
<hr/><p>He finally spots Newt talking to a tall and broody, black-haired, boy with a long face and droopy eyes that make him look as bored as possible. Thomas runs up to them, looking slightly nervous, afraid to be rejected. Before Thomas can even open his mouth Newt starts speaking, "hello Tommy, this is Zart, Keeper of the Track-Hoes. I'm pretty sure a tour of the Glade isn't that quick, what are ya doing here?" Thomas rubbed the back of his neck and quickly rushed out, "AlbyallowedmetogohuntingforBeetleBladesandIwaswonderingifyouwantedtogowithme?", immediately looking down, thinking that he should have asked Chuck instead.</p><p>"Could ya repeat that again more slowly, I couldn't understand what you were sayin' Tommy." Newt asked and if that was Zart's que to leave he took it with a quick "I have to continue weeding the gardens Newt", Newt replied with a quick "okay, I'll see you later" and Zart walked off. Newt refocused on his conversation with Thomas and repeated his previous question, "can you repeat what you said hun, I couldn't quite catch it." Thomas blushed at the term of endearment and pointedly kept his eyes fixed on a piece of grass, till Newt tilted his chin up. Thomas repeated what he said slower, "Alby allowed me to go hunting for Beetle Blades and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?" Newt's eyes widened with understanding and said gently, "of course I'll go with you Tommy. Lemme just put away my supplies and grab some rubber gloves 'cause the Beetle Blades give off electric shocks when you try to pick them up."</p>
<hr/><p>Newt walks off to the shed to put away his supplies and grabbed a bag and some rubber gloves and once he is done his hand was grabbed by Thomas. Who immediately starts swinging their arms like it is the most natural thing to do in the world. They walked towards the North wall at a moderate pace, ignoring all the eyes watching them. Since Newt doesn't usually talk to the Greenies during the first couple of days. Newt notices this and hollers, "get back to work Slint-Heads your jobs aren't goin' to do themselves." Everyone who was watching them immediately got back to work, embarrassed that they got caught.</p>
<hr/><p>They got to the North wall and Newt handed Thomas the gloves when he spotted a flash of silver. Newt pointed to where he spotted the Beetle Blade and Thomas picked it up and inspected it. He noticed that it had a silver cylindrical body which was about 3 inches in diameter and 10 inches in length. It had 12 jointed legs running the length of its body. The Beetle Blade also had a bright, blinding red light is emitted through the beetle's eye, and the word "WICKED" was smeared across the torso as if it had been written in blood. Thomas dropped it in the bag and they continued their hunt for the Beetle Blades.</p>
<hr/><p>By the time it was lunch they had collected 20 of the Beetle Blades and Thomas had proclaimed that he had enough of them for the time being. Thomas rejoined their hands and they started walking to the kitchen which was beside the Homestead but on the opposite side of the Slammer. The kitchen was small but had everything one needed to make a hearty meal. A big oven, a microwave, a dishwasher, a couple of tables. It seemed old and run-down but clean. Seeing the appliances and the familiar layout made Thomas feel as if memories—real, solid memories —were right on the edge of his mind. But again, the essential parts were missing—names, faces, places, events. It was maddening.</p><p>When a tall boy with dark skin and short hair hollered loudly, "lunch is ready Shanks come and get it." Newt leaned over and jerked his head towards the boy, "his name is Frypan, Keeper of the Cooks." They all lined up orderly like if they were going to start pushing each other around they wouldn't get lunch. Thomas had a feeling that had actually happened before. Sandwiches with tomato, bacon, lettuce and mayonnaise were handed out with a a bottle of water and an apple. Everyone separated into different groups and Chuck walked up to them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just got my bottom braces put on and have nothing better to do at the moment so I thought it would be a good idea to finish this chapter earlier for you guys. I hoped you enjoy it and I'm writing a new book called Dreamers which is a book of one-shots. It hasn't been posted yet but if you are interested keep a lookout for it. Though the updates for that one with be sporadic. I'm also open to prompts for my book of one-shots so if you want to give me any go for it!</p><p>Here are the the links to the websites I used to write this chapter:<br/>https://mazerunner.fandom.com/wiki/Beetle_Blade#:~:text=Beetle%20Blades%20are%20small%2C%20metal,the%20length%20of%20their%20body.<br/>https://www.inliterature.net/food-reference-lists/2014/06/food-from-the-maze-runner-james-dashner.html</p><p>I hope you have a great day or evening where ever you are! See you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Learning as we go...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chuck's face split into a happy grin giving a happy puppy look as he walked up to them. "Hey Chucky" Newt said, ruffling his hair until his head moved out of Newt's reach and hands batted at Newt's. Once he got out of Newt's reach he whined, "stop, I just styled my hair and you're ruining it." Newt chuckled, "you're soundin' awfully similar to Minho, you sure you aren't hangin' around him? He's a bad influence" "He's your friend" Chuck complained. Thomas watched the domestic exchange with a happy smile on his face when all of a sudden a loud yell cut through the air from across the Glade. Newt immediately turned in that direction before looking back at Thomas and Chuck and saying, "well that's my cue I gotta go, see ya later Tommy, Chuck." Newt jogged off in the direction of the yell and met up with Alby who was also going in the direction.</p><hr/><p>"Well since he's off doing something do you want to find some shade to sit at?" Thomas asked. "Sure! I would love to sit with you!" Chuck replied happily. They walked to the edge of the deadheads, while eating their sandwiches and holding the rest of their lunches. They settled down and leaned against their respective trees. "Sooooo, how do ya like it hear Th-shank" Chuck started. "You know you don't have to call me what they call me like shank, greenie, greenbean and whatever they come up with right?" Thomas said. "I know but I just want to fit in" Chuck admitted. "You know you don't have to try to fit in ... you'll always be my friend" Thomas said hesitantly as he pulled Chuck into a hug. Chuck beamed at Thomas and hugged him back.</p><hr/><p><strong>Takes place when Newt walks away with</strong> <strong>Alby.</strong></p><hr/><p>"What is going on here" Newt yells. The group immediately separates and looks away from Alby and Newt when Gally walks forward angrily. "They're makin' fun of Ben," Gally breaths in deeply and grinding his teeth together angrily before continuing. "Jus' because they've never been stung before doesn' mean they get to do this ... THROW THEM IN THE SLAMMER" he screams, spittle flying from his mouth. "Calm down Gally" Alby says, while raising his hands placatingly, "the slammer is too hard of a punishment but we'll figure something out".  Alby makes eye contact with Newt and they have a quick conversation involving raised eyebrows and eye ticks until Newt turned his focus back onto the group and Alby turned his focus back on Gally. "Come walk with me Gally," Alby says, "Newt will take care of them those involved will be punished." Gally nods with an angry look on his face and they walk towards homestead.</p><hr/><p>"Here’s what we’re goin' to do." Newt said scowling at the crowd. "You're going to separate into three groups, on the right side (Newt gestures to the right side with his right hand) we have those involved in teasing Ben. On the left side (Newt gestures to the left side with his left hand) we have those involved in defending Ben with Gally and in the middle we have the people who are standing around here because they were attracted here by what was happening. If you are in this group you are going to go somewhere else and finish your lunch (Newt glares at the crowd) peacefully. Got that, and don't lie to me because I will know and you all know that. Let's go." Newt claps his hands and they start to get into three groups.</p><hr/><p>They manage to organize themselves into three groups in a reasonable amount of time. Newt dismissed the middle group back to lunch and focused on the other two groups. Newt turned to the group on the left and starts the speech he has been preparing, "ok, I get ya slintheads were jus' helpin' Gally protect Ben's "honour" because he was stung and they probably didn't know what it feels like. Here's the thing ... (Newt sighs) almost no one here has gotten stung. So ya shanks should have either ignored it or brought it up with either Alby or I. Which clearly didn't happen or we wouldn't be having a full on brawl. You shuckfaces are getting off easy today, Alby and I have agreed that we're not gonna stick ya'll into the Slammer so instead you will all start collecting the supplies to help Gally and the Builders start their projects like the new Homestead and a Medshack. I will need groups of three a couple groups will start cutting down the trees we need, others will be collecting the supplies we have like nails, hammers and so forth and we need a couple to compile a list of the things we need so the creators can send us the supplies next month to start the projects. Alright? Well ... what are you waiting for?"</p><hr/><p>Both groups start to move when suddenly Newt calls out, "and where do you think you're going?" Both groups stopped in their tracks, "not you" Newt says pointing to the left group. "You shanks on the other hand are the lucky group" Newt says, while pointing to the right group. They immediately look down because whenever Newt says they are lucky it's usually because they did something wrong. "Get back here" Newt says, beckoning them to walk closer. They all glance at each other nervously before stepping forward. "You shanks on the other hand ..." Newt trails off, before shaking his head and smiling. "Get to spend the rest of the day in the Slammer without any food ... it's one thing to fight for someone's honour. Though neither Alby nor I condone it but it's another to kick a person when they're down for example make fun of them." Newt beckons them to follow him and they walk in silence to the Slammer. Newt opens the door and says grimly, "your seven hours start now, think about what you've done" before he shuts the door and locks it. Newt walks away without looking back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter because I had lot of fun writing it. Sorry for not writing last week, I hit a wall with my inspiration and was crazy busy spending time studying for a math test. I have to thank my friend who read over some of this chapter and gave me an idea with blossomed into whatever this chapter has turned into. I tried to imitate writing glader slang and Newt's accent but I don't think it went so well. If you have an constructive feedback don't be afraid to write it in the comments since I love reading all your comments. It brings me a lot of joy that you enjoy my writing. Sorry if half of this is just me rambling but I'm writing this at 2:00 in the morning so please forgive me. If I'm not crazy busy with passover and all my upcoming assignments then I will write another chapter. I hope you guys are having a great day or evening where every you are and stay safe!<br/>Oupster</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Usual (Tiredness)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>12:30pm While Newt walks away</strong>
</p><hr/><p>"What do we do now?" someone from the back asks. "We wait" a glum voice replies. Sighs echo around the Slammer as everyone gets comfortable some lying down, some sitting crosslegged and leaning their backs against the wall and some curled up around each other.</p><hr/><p>Once Newt got far enough away he looked at the group in the Slammer and how they all accepted their punishment with resignation. Newt made his rounds of the Glade, stopping to talk with Thomas and Chuck briefly before making his was to Alby seeing that Gally was no longer with him. (Most likely in the Medshack part of the homestead with Ben)</p><p>"Fine, I guess you won this time, once Gally is done visitin' Ben he can get the group that isn't in the Slammer under control."</p><p>"Well, hello to you too."</p><p>Alby grumbles, poking Newt in the side and Newt catches up with him.</p><p>"Still trying to make yourself seem like a grump?" Newt asks "well it's not working.</p><p>"It's worth a try, Chuck still gets scared from time to time" Alby mumbles tiredly.</p><p>"It's only 12 and we are already having trouble."</p><p>Newt sighs while Alby rubs a hand up and down his face tiredly.</p><p>"Yeah, tell me about it, it's too early for this. It's easier when they're drunk, they can't get out of their sleeping bags or damage themselves in any way."</p><p>They both huff our a laugh before continuing to do their rounds around the Glade in silence.</p><hr/><p>"Ben's doing better, Jeff thinks that at the rate he's recovering at that he'll be runnin' by the time the next Greenie comes out of the box." Alby remarks hopefully.</p><p>Newt hums, "that good to hear."</p><p>"Yeah" Alby replies, nodding his head slowly as they settle back into silence.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>2:00pm Chuck and Thomas</strong>
</p><hr/><p>A loud bell starts ringing and Thomas clamps his hands down on his ears hard and looks like he is trying to fold his body in half. While attempting to block out the sound.</p><p>"What was that?" Thomas asks.</p><p>"The lunch bell, a couple months before the Creators sent up a bell and when Frypan wants to scare everyone instead of yelling he'll ring the bell to let us know lunch is over."</p><p>"Oh"</p><p>"We gotta go, come on!"</p><p>Chuck gets up and grabs the plates, cups and grabs Thomas's hand before dragging him to the kitchen to put the plates and cups on the counter to be cleaned. Thomas wasn't sure where to go because he didn't have a job like Chuck who just hurried off to who knows where to meet up with the rest of the Sloppers.</p><hr/><p>Thomas spots Newt and Alby deep in conversation, standing in front of the door leading into the Homestead. Newt spots him and waves, lips quirking into a small grin. Alby turns around and sees Thomas walking hesitantly towards them not sure if he should be going back towards the Homestead. Considering that Alby yelled at him for being found there yesterday and Thomas didn't want a repeat of that when Alby seemed to be warming up to him.</p><hr/><p>Alby noticed his hesitance and yelled, "Come one Greenie, we don't have all day" when he felt like Thomas was taking too long.</p><p>"Oh lay off of him Alby, he's just nervous after you ripped into him yesterday for being here" Newt snarked back.</p><p>Alby rolled his eyes, "valid point Newtie."</p><p>"... Don't ever call me that!" Newt elbowed Alby sharply in the ribs before walking up to Thomas and dragging him towards Alby from where he was trying to blend into the shadows.</p><p>"Come on Tommy, we have a tour to finish after you took off trying to find me to hunt for Beetle Blades." Thomas ducked his head and blushed, embarrassed as he remembered how he bolted off to find Newt. Trying fruitlessly to escape is grasp.</p><p>Newt snorted, "none of that now, it's not like you're being led to your death."</p><hr/><p>As Alby, Newt and Thomas make their way to the map room Alby explains who each of the Keepers are. "Minho is the Keeper of the Runners and by default the Keeper of the Map-makers. Gally is the Keeper of the Builders and also by default the Keeper of the Bricknicks. I pretty sure Newt already told you that Frypan is the Keeper of the Cooks and Zart is the Keeper of the Gardeners/Track-hoes." Newt nods his head and Alby continues, "Winston is the Keeper of the Slicers and the who you will be working under tomorrow. There are only two Med-jacks Jeff and Clint ... since neither could decide who should be the Keeper, they decided to be Co-Keepers. Billy is the Keeper of the Baggers and Keeper of the Sloppers is Sid."</p><p>They continue their walk in silence.</p><p>As they walked Thomas didn't notice how Newt casually swung his arm and their fingers accidentally brushing each others though neither felt or payed enough attention to feel it. Almost like their hands wanting to connect almost like muscle memory.</p><hr/><p>Neither noticed when Alby abruptly stopped, that they had reached their destination ... causing them to run into Alby. "Can either of you use your eyes to not walk into me. The two of you are practically in each other and neither of you can use your eyes?" Alby asks frustratingly. Thomas and Newt turn towards each other and blush when they realize they are practically nose to nose. Newt eyes flicker down to Thomas's lips before flicking back up to his eyes. He seemed to snap out of a stupor and immediately step back, "oh ... well this is the Map Room only the Runners go in there because they create and compare maps in there." Alby snorts as Newt tries to ignore what just happened, "Then we have the Homestead which contains the Kitchen, the Gathering, the Slammer and the Med-shack ..."</p><p>Alby continues leading the tour as Newt talks about the Blood House, Gardens and Deadheads.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well that was a journey with many plot holes (and more to come). Sorry about not updating last week I was just crazy busy with the April break and now that is here you can go back to expecting weekly updates. I hope you don't mind the plot holes and the all around Oocness. I'm trying to make a list of the things that I want to happen in this book mainly ✨newtmas✨ which seems to be turning out ok. I also sort of given up on the slang since I'm horrible at writing it. Hopefully this isn't as confusing as I think it is and I hope you enjoyed this books so far. So have a good day, evening wherever you are!<br/>Stay safe and healthy!<br/>Oupster<br/>P.S. Thank you for all the kudos and comments!❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Update</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I really hate doing this to you all but I'm about to go back to school and I have exams coming up. I want to focus on doing well on those exams, which means taking a break and mainly working on studying. This is just going to be a temporary hiatus, I feel bad doing this but I want to make sure I don't focus on writing but focus instead on my classes. I wanted to let you all know so that it's not like I'm dropping off the face of the Earth. I love all your comments on this story and thank you for all the kudos!</p>
<p>Stay safe and healthy,</p>
<p>Oupster</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hopefully you enjoyed the first chapter and stay tuned for more. That is ... when I'm inspired and decide to write more.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>